"Not writing to that old woman behind my back?"
"She told me what she was doing and showed me the letter."
"Yes; of course. The two of you were in it. Does that make it any better? I say it was sly and wicked; and you were sly and wicked as well as she. She has got the better of you, and now you are going to send her away from the only chance she'll ever get of having a decent home of her own over her head."
"There's nothing more to be said about it, my dear. She'll go to Lady Ushant." Having thus pronounced his dictum with all the marital authority he was able to assume he took his hat and sallied forth. Mrs. Masters, when she was left alone, stamped her foot and hit the desk with a ruler that was lying there. Then she went up-stairs and threw herself on her bed in a paroxysm of weeping and wailing.
Mr. Masters, when he closed his door, looked up the street and down the street and then again went across to the Bush. Mr. Runciman was still there, and was standing with a letter in his hand, while one of the grooms from Rufford Hall was holding a horse beside him. "Any answer, Mr. Runciman?" said the groom.
"Only to tell his lordship that everything will be ready for him. You'd better go through and give the horse a feed of corn, and get a bit of something to eat and a glass of beer yourself." The man wasn't slow to do as he was bid;—and in this way the Bush had become very popular with the servants of the gentry around the place. "His lordship is to be here from Friday to Sunday with a party, Mr. Masters."
"Oh, indeed."
"For the end of the shooting. And who do you think he has asked to be one of the party?"
"Not Mr. Reginald?"
"I don't think they ever spoke in their lives. Who but Larry Twentyman!"